


Tin Cans and Tail

by Freddy1X



Series: Two Worlds [6]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Bullying, Fox - Freeform, Gen, Human, Psychological Trauma, R.L. furry history, all OCs - Freeform, anecdote, bad sight gag, comic books, good parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freddy1X/pseuds/Freddy1X
Summary: Westumble into a repressed memory held by the fox, and a childhood trauma is relived by all three.
Series: Two Worlds [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937995





	Tin Cans and Tail

**Author's Note:**

> It would help to read the prior stories of this series first to understand the context.
> 
> As always, Zootopia and all characters within it are owned by Disney corporation.  
> I am just visiting with a few of my friends to play in that world.

We are enjoying a relaxed evening, after supper, at the end of an average day at the embassy. My companion sits at his corner workbench and is making something, a craft project he calls it but won't say what it is because he wants to surprise us. So **We** won't pry.  
Also, he is casually going through some of my memories, I can feel. It's how we're learning about each other. Some other times I will look through his memories.

Meanwhile I am reading some of the older comic books from his collection, part of those he calls 'furry'. The setting for this one is far future, with a space faring mix of mammals and birds. A 'space opera' is how my companion describes it, using a term he did not originate.

“Why is this fox grrreen?” *  
I hold up the page for him to see. I have somehow gotten improved color vision from him, and can now distinguish reds and greens. I'm still getting used to this change. Looking down at my foreleg, I remember how once I didn't even know that my own fur looked like this. Although I have already seen it using my companion's eyes, nothing compares with how I can now see it through my own. We really were red foxes. He in turn is now able to sense magnet fields.

My companion smiles with the memory.  
“The author is partially color blind, a not uncommon condition in human males. It's much like your color vision was before the changes. Steve explained all of this in a following issue, answering a question in the letters column. One of his markers was grrreen mislabeled as red, So he colored the fox grrreen. This was done in a time when computers were not commonly used by artists.”

He goes back to his project and I continue reading.

“Nooo! How could they do that to you!” He stops what he is doing and rushes to my side. Unity has also gotten tight with us as we join in a hug. I'm baffled at first until I read what troubles Us.  
My surroundings fade...

\---  
My five year old mind is in control and reliving my thoughts from that time while my current self can only watch and fill in the details to my other selves.

'I am a big tod now. I'm just a bit under five years old and on my way home from the playground.'  
'I wave off my friends as they go down another street. I turn back to see a strange kit step into my path, then more who join him after I stop.'  
'Why have the big kits stopped me?'  
'The strongest one grabs me around my middle to hold me up while two others tie ropes to my wrists and ankles. A third is pulling on my tail. The rest are jeering and threatening, waving poles with empty tin cans tied to their ends like they intend to start hitting me with them. The two have finished with their ropes and move back. The big kid throws me down. I don't see him but someone still holds my tail.'  
'I try to stand but the ropes prevent that. I fall over. After two more failed tries, I stand on four paws instead. There are two different ropes that cross under me keeping me down like this.'  
''They want me crawling like a beast.'  
'Once I stay up on my four paws this way the rest start pummeling me with their cans and chanting. It does not hurt but the threats feel real enough. The kit holding my tail lets go and shouts.'  
“RUN!” 'And I run, tripping over my hobbled legs several times as they chase. I hear more shouts behind me.'  
“Fox hunt!” 'One of them must be at my tail again because I can feel him tugging at it. And the ones with the noisy sticks are still right behind me. I am on a dead run going blindly into the evening. I can't hear the shouts any more but one of them still pulls at my tail. The can holders are always behind me no matter how fast I run. When I can't keep it up any longer I dart under a prickly hedge. I stop moving in the thorny shelter once I have pushed in enough to feel safe, not minding the pain it causes.'  
'I don't hear the noise they make any more. They didn't try to get at me here and have gone away.'  
'I have not realized that there were cans tied to my tail all along. The kits were never following me. Still I must turn to face the way I came in, the only way in or out.'  
''If they come back, I will face them with tooth and claw.'  
'I pant and cry for a while and eventually curl up hunched over my four paws, trying to be as small as possible. I am numb to the world.'  


'I'm still huddled under that bush when poppa finds me by scent. I hadn't replied when I heard him call my name, still hearing the voice of my tormentors. Distantly I know he is calling to me. I don't move, don't open my eyes. The bush moves away from pressing thorns into my back as he pushes his way under it. I hear him grunting and hissing as he does this. Once near he looks me over but doesn't see how my legs are tied. But he does see the cord around my tail. When he pulls at it to investigate, the cans rattle. That's when I scream and try to run away from 'them'. My scream is not of words but express a primal fear and anger. Since poppa blocks the path, he easily catches me and pulls me into a hug, me still wild eyed, screaming, and struggling to run away. Thorns tear at me again and I feel more pain.'  
''The bullies are beating me again.'  
'I smell blood, his and mine, my own fear and expelled wastes. The cans continue to rattle as I thrash. Their weight tugging on my tail and his grip means that 'they' still have me. Poppa holds on to me and endures. I finally register enough of his scent to feel safe and settle down. Although that wasn't correct because inside I had completely given up.'  


'He carries me home after I have settled out of my violent panic. There the ropes that I couldn't chew off are cut way. They clean me up but I won't eat or do anything else, only moving when they do it for me. They stopped trying to feed me that night because I would choke or cough up whatever they put in my mouth. It took them a lot of effort but I manage to start eating again the next day. I must wear diapers again and sleep in my parents bed for the next week. The night terrors make both necessary. I won't leave the house for that week either, and after then only when they are with me. There was also a blur of questions with a police officer wolf coming for visits, and big words I didn't understand like “evidence”, “investigation” and “juvenile hall”.'  
''Was he there the first night?'  
''Pred haters?'  
''Why do they keep showing me pictures of those awful kits?'

'It was in that week that I found my imaginary friend.'  
''Friend...'

“... Freddy! Freddy? You're OK. Let it go. There, that's better.” I see our room again and can feel my companion wrapped around me. With me recovered they start loosening up. Unity is backing out of my mind to his more normal presence. We have all been crying along with the repressed memory. 

That fear is finally out of my system and the little pup that was can sleep again.

“They said that I wasn't the same mammal after that. I remained very clingy to family. Sudden noises made me panic. I stayed away from friends for months, could not trust anyone. I was close to Abrahm before this happened and even he couldn't reach me.”  
I look up to the one holding me,  
“It's silly, but back then all I had was you as my imaginary friend. Thanks for for being there for me.”

“I felt it too! Back when this happened to you. For me it was like a nightmare even though I was fully awake. I was in the room I shared with my brother and on my part of the bunk bed, reading a comic book I think, when a wave of terror hit me. I settled down and was talking with my parents when another wave of terror hit me. There was even bleeding stigmata both times that appeared on my back and arms. I couldn't explain what happened, only that I thought that I was attacked by animals and had to hide in a thorn bush.” He shows me the scars it left on his arms.  
Feeling very tired now I announce.  
“This evening has been ruined. I'm going to retire early.”  
My other selves agree and join me.

\---  
The next evening my human companion finishes his project and holds it up between both hands for me to see. It is a plush toy skunk with a wooden handle attached to the underside. He displays a big smile for how it turned out. This is his idea for cheering me up after last night, that much I can feel.  
“I don't get it.”  
He still doesn't let slip the thoughts of what it is to me or unity.  
He takes the wooden grip in his right hand and brandishes it like a pistol. The toy skunk's head faces him and the fluffy striped skunk tail flops down at the other end. He then flips it around so that the tail moves up over the back in the classic skunk spray-threat posture.

“It's a skunk gun! The devastating power of skunk in a convenient pistol mounted form!” **

That's when I notice the short amount of barrel poking out of the tail end of the plush. I can barely form words. This is unspeakable. We hear Unity giggle.  
“You're not helping!”

“And it even works” He pulls the trigger and a small white puff of something comes out of the 'back end'.  
This sight has me choking on either a laugh or a groan, as I can't decide if I'm amused or outraged.  
Meanwhile Unity is rolling on the floor laughing, however and wherever he does that. 

But my companion is not finished demonstrating.  
“It's also a muzzle loader!” With this stated, he pulls out a metal rod with a thin blue handle that seems to have been nestled in the side next to the gun grip. He moves the 'gun' and the ramrod about to line them up.  
'He's not gonna...'  
I have to keep watching this train wreck. He then makes a show of shoving the ramrod down the barrel. There is a click as whatever internal mechanism it has is reset. I understand on an intellectual level that the gun has just been cocked. But there is the overwhelming image of what he just did to the back end of the skunk with the stick. This impression he fully appreciates and to reinforce the visual he withdraws and reinserts the rod a few more times.  
“He really loves reloading!” With that comment I notice that the plush's face is indeed smiling. I feel a weird glitch from Unity at the same time.  
'Hello?'  
I don't know what just happened to our Unity, but he is no longer responding.  
'Did he pass out laughing too hard?'  
When I can finally speak again I warn:  
“You show that in public and some skunk really will spray you! Simon will be first in line!” ***  
“Perfect! I'll show his human first.” He keeps smiling, even more so. He can't wait to test my proclamation.

**Author's Note:**

> While reading the story by Slyly1993: "Nick's Bunnyburrow Christmas", I remembered some obscure scene from a 'Merry Melodies' cartoon. 
> 
> This was tough for me to write. Every attempt to edit just made the flashback get darker. So I felt that I had to put the anecdote in to balance the story.
> 
> *  
> The green fox appeared in the comic “Albedo Anthropomorphics” Antarctic Press, published January 1996, Volume 3, issue 4, pages 13 & 14 Most Albedos had color covers and black and white inside. The four issues of Volume 3 were color inside and out.
> 
> **  
> Yes I really did make that skunk gun. A long time ago I donated it to a fur-con charity auction. At the time of making it I procured enough parts to make a second one, just never did it. The plush is a Folkmanis puppet. Maybe some day I will make the second one...
> 
> ***  
> Simon Sweet, of the skunk – human companion team. Named after “Sweet Simon”, the skunk logo for the Dick Simon Trucking, Inc.


End file.
